Dark Lord's Pet

Analysis

Harry

He was royally pissed, nearly as annoyed as he was embarrassed. It hadn't been difficult to unfasten the muzzle from his face, but before he could start launching a fresh assault of words on the other man, his attention was caught by the sheet of paper's neat golden letters. 

Distractedly, he healed the finger which'd been sliced and began to read upside down.

"I don't get it, what does it mean? How am I heir to Hogwarts? Master of Death, what does that even mean?"

"It means," Voldemort said, voice paced as if only giving Harry part of his attention, "that there's more to you than I'd thought."

Piercing red eyes drilled into Harry with unnerving focus. To try to mitigate the effect without breaking eyes contact, he slid backwards in the chair to add more distance. All it served to do was remind him that Voldemort had stolen his clothes earlier. Pervert.

"That doesn't explain anything," Harry said, peeved and a bit exasperated.

"Well, I already knew you were powerful, see here, this 1618 for power, well, I knew you'd score high there, but not how high. That shouldn't even be possible. The largest core ever recorded was Merlin, and he, as you might had inferred, had a score of 1500. I also have that same reading. You, on the other hand, are off the scale," eyes like daggers seemed to penetrate deeper, "And what's even more interesting is that your growth was stunted, both physical and magical alike. You're still a growing child-"

"Not a child," Harry hissed.

"Right right, stop getting so wound up, you're still growing, which means you may surpass your current level with time. To give you a better understanding of the scale, 100 or above qualifies as a witch or wizard. A minor wizard is called a squib, and if they are born to magically talented parents, they could reach up to 150, and wield enough magic to make potions though likely nothing else.

"The next stage is from 150-500, and that's where weak wizards come in. They generally hold jobs where much magic is not required, like research or certain branches of the Ministry of Magic. They are also the most common subset to give up magic and live as muggles," Voldemort said, a hint of disdain flavoring his tone, "The majority of wizards fall in the 500-1100 range, where they are considered to be average. They will easily pass any course offered in general education systems such as Hogwarts and have ease in choosing their job. 

"About 12% of wizards fall in the 1100-1500 range, and they are the most powerful. People like that are able to specialize in more difficult branches, become masters in complex arts and generally throw their weight around. Dumbledore is 1467, an incredible amount of power, he falls in the top 0.5% of the wizarding population. I myself, as 1500, was the most powerful wizard alive in the world."

Voldemort leaned forward across the table, "Until you came along. People like Severus, Lucius, Narcissa, Lily Potter, Alastor Moody and believe it or not, Bellatrix before she got warped by Azkaban, are all very powerful as well. Severus is 1452 and Narcissa is 1451, making them incredibly valuable assets to me.

"But that is nothing to you Harry," Voldemort practically purred his name, "1618. It's amazing, and I plan to ensure that power grows. You," Voldemort stood and walked around to stand behind Harry, "Are exactly what I need."

The older man leaned down and kissed the raw area where Harry had been bitten. A crawling sensation spread from the area, like hot tongues of fire was spreading from it, and Harry gasped at the pain, throwing his head back and squirming in his chair.

"And you'll be mine," Voldemort whispered right next to his ear.

The pain had burned through Harry, jolting all of his nerves, but as it receded, there was a warm, heavy feeling left in its wake. A thick pressure began to build in his lower abdomen, and Harry wanted to relieve it. Reaching down, he wanted to make the sensation end, to move and stroke until there was nothing left but a feeling of satiety and exhaustion.

A large, powerful hand halted Harry's progress though.

"No, Pet, you must let it pass," Voldemort said in a husky murmur, "Don't touch, just wait."

Harry whimpered, but he felt he had to obey that voice. Had to do what it said. He groaned as he was lifted from the chair, the movement making his body ache for more, his tongue unable to form words. Would Voldemort touch him? Make the horrible pressure abate?

He was cradled in the man's arms, held securely, and carried from the testing room. Voldemort was murmuring to him, but Harry couldn't make out words, only a general soothing cadence to the speech. As the older wizard walked and spoke to him, Harry felt exhaustion taking hold.

A moment before falling into sleep, he heard distinct words from his captor, "Do you trust me?"

"Yes," Harry mumbled, though he fell asleep before he was certain the words got out.